


Thunderstorms

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, boss/intern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It really was supposed to be the other way around, the man getting the woman flowers. But was a relationship with Sherlock Holmes supposed to be conventional?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OccasionallyCreative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/gifts).



> Eleanor prompted "#49: Boss/Intern"

It really was supposed to be the other way around, the man getting the woman flowers. But was a relationship with Sherlock Holmes supposed to be conventional? For heaven’s sake, the first time she’d met the man, he had barely introduced himself as the new intern before he was reorganizing her entire office. And it wasn’t as if he was an ordinary intern. He was at least a decade older than any of the other interns that had worked at the firm, and twice as smart as  _anyone_  who had worked in the building.

 

Yet somehow, he chose to work for her. Somehow, he chose her to flirt with. He chose her to take to dinner, to the movies, out dancing… on wild goose chases, nights at his flat going through the cultures, his hand on her wrist to stop her from going over paperwork, her pushing the microscope away and a plate of food in front of him… It wasn’t just dating. It was downright  _domestic._  

 

Flowers felt right. It was Sherlock’s last day before the unpaid period finished, so she got him a bouquet. No one would make a fuss about the boss giving a going away present. She’d given little gifts before… just never a key to her flat. He wouldn’t be moving in, god no, it’d only been three months, and he was obviously perfectly comfortable with his own place. But it was a sign of trust, giving up a certain amount of vulnerability willingly.

 

Molly wanted to share her life with him. Because she, Molly Hooper of the Hooper Association, was head over heels in love with Sherlock Holmes.

 

Funny, she’d never even thought about it proper like that. But she did, she really did love Sherlock. The thought of it brought a smile to her face, a giddy bounce to her step. She went up the front steps of the building quickly, before putting herself into a bit of a restraint. 

 

_Come on Hooper, you have employees in there,_ she reminded herself. She straightened her spine, lifting her chin, and walked in  _perfectly normally._

 

She got past the elevator, past the ever nosy Caroline, but nothing could escape the observant gaze of her assistant Meena.

 

"Flowers? For me?" she teased.

 

"Oh hush," Molly scolded playfully, swatting the bouquet in her general direction. Meena giggled in response as her boss went into her office. 

 

Sherlock, as he usually did most mornings, had taken the chair at her desk, taking in the view out her window. If it could be called a view. Nothing was particularly appealing about the brick apartment complex across the street, although the occasional vase being thrown out onto the pavement by the couple living there was amusing enough. The intern himself had his feet propped up against the still and, from the angle, she could see him holding a mobile to his ear.

 

"-Yes, I can see you now. Doesn’t matter where from, I just can. Wouldn’t be good if Steve-o caught a glimpse of me, he knows my face at this point. Of course he doesn’t know who I am, not really. Everyone in this horrid sewer thinks I’m just the intern shagging the boss. Honestly Lestrade, all this undercover work ought to wrap up my debt. I can get back to regular cases, far away from this miserable-"

 

Molly had dropped the flowers. At the sound, Sherlock’s head perked up, and he swiveled in the chair. The sight of Molly had him on his feet immediately, mouth agape.

 

"… place."

 

Flowers forgotten, Molly ran out of the office, never minding Sherlock’s voice rushing out, “I’ve got to go, no- it doesn’t matter! Molly! Molly, wait!”

 

She got back into the elevator, stabbing the button that closed the doors. Sherlock’s hand darted out to stop it, but he was too late. The elevator shut and Molly was left alone. What did she just hear? What was all that about-about-

 

Undercover work. He was a cop. He was a bloody undercover cop and she was a cover story. Her chest didn’t feel right, like the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Oh god she was going to cry. She didn’t want to cry, she wanted to make the elevator go back up and hit him as hard as she could. She was a cover story. He lied to her, he lied to her, he  _lied to her._

 

"Oh god," she muttered to herself as her eyes leaked, brushing the tears away quickly. She couldn’t do this, not at work.

 

The elevator doors opened and she ran, not listening to Elle at the front desk calling after her. She left the building, and was greeted by a scene across the street. 

 

Two police cars were parked, and the couple from across the street were being pinned against the hood of one, handcuffs being put in place by the cops hovering over them. After standing dumbfounded for a moment, Molly started to move down the street, away from it all. She’d just reached the next building when Sherlock burst from the firm. Even without looking at him, she knew. One of the officers across the street began shouting Sherlock’s name.

 

"Lestrade, go bring the Paxtons to the Yard,  _please._  Molly, Molly please just wait-“

 

Realizing she was spotted, Molly tried to put on a burst of speed, but Sherlock’s long legs overtook the distance in seconds. He took her arm, which she ripped away.

 

"Don’t! Don’t touch me!" she said, her voice sounding far more hysterical than she wanted it to be. 

 

"If you would just let me explain-"

 

"No, no, go!" Molly pushed at his hands as he tried to reach for her again, "Just go away! You’re done, you’re done,"

 

 

"Not until you have all the facts."

 

Sherlock didn’t reach for her again, but he stepped closer, prompting her to look right at him. He was tugging on his coat still, having rushed out so fast he didn’t have time to put it on properly.

 

"We were real."

 

Molly scoffed through tears, which made him grimace.

 

"No, believe me, we were real. Are real. I took the internship so I could have an excuse to be close to the flat, close to the Paxtons. But I didn’t…" Sherlock shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut, "You weren’t part of it,"

 

"Bullshit," she spat, the curse word forcing itself up her throat.

 

"I never meant to get caught up in you!" he yelled, his hands leaping out in front of himself, "I let sentiment get the better of me. I let the case stretch out for longer than it should have because I wanted to spend more time with you, alright?!"

 

He jabbed his finger towards the crime scene, towards the couple getting arrested, “Mary Watson, my own friend, was nearly  _murdered_  by those two and that was on me! That was my fault because I wanted to spend time with you! But I did. I wanted you, I want you, I will want you, don’t you get it-  _just stop and listen!_ ”

 

Molly, who had turned her shoulder to him, reluctantly turned back. She gave a sniff, which was drowned out by the sound of thunder rolling in the distance. Feeling cold, she crossed her arms over her chest, and nodded for him to go on.

 

"I-" he huffed out a breath, and took a moment to find his bearings, "I don’t know what I can say to get you to stop walking away. I just want you to stop. I just want more time with you. Maybe it’s because I let sentiment get the better of me and maybe I’m just - in love with you and it doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t matter because I did lie-"

 

"-Oh."

 

Sherlock’s mouth kept moving, still saying things that she couldn’t process at all. But then, he stopped entirely, his eyes bulging practically out of his head as he finally realized what he had said.

 

He did what no one who gives a love declaration does.

 

He turned and bolted away.

 

"What- no, get back here!" Molly shouted, chasing after him. She leaped, trying to catch his sleeve, but ended up tumbling into him. They both crashed to the ground. Molly began apologizing profusely as Sherlock rolled onto his back groaning.

 

"Sorry, I’m sor- no, no I’m not!" she took him by the shoulders and pushed him back down as he tried to sit up. The oncoming storm overhead rumbled and crashed as it came closer.

 

"You just said-"

 

"No I didn’t," he said quickly.

 

"Yes you did!"

 

"Did I?"

 

_"Sherlock."_

 

"It doesn’t matter," Sherlock said, shaking his head, "You don’t care-"

 

"But may-m-maybe it’s just like in the movies. All those movies, where two people, they-they get in a fight and they run away, but then they stop and they find each other again because that’s what people do when they care about each other-"

 

"In  _movies,_ Molly. I hurt you,”

 

"That happens in the movies too. And I’m still- needing all the facts. I just need this to make sense because everything’s everywhere-"

 

"Get off of me, Ms. Hooper, your employees are looking," Sherlock’s tone was entirely unreadable.

 

Mortified, Molly looked up and saw everyone peeking out the windows, practically climbing over one another to get a good view. Her cheeks burning, she moved aside, sitting beside him with her hands propping her up. Her fingers fit into the small space between the pavement and her knuckles, curling into fists. Sherlock sat up, legs bent as if he was going to get up and hadn’t figured out the rest of the process. He didn’t say anything. That was probably that, then. Molly tilted her chin up and, with a sniff, pulled her now broken shoes off her feet. Knees folding underneath herself, she was about to get up when Sherlock stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

 

"Give it a minute," he said.

 

She sighed wearily, feeling rather defeated, “What? What is it?”

 

Sherlock glanced at her quickly as he lifted his gaze up, clouds getting darker and darker above them. After a few seconds, Molly was ready to ignore him and leave, when the sky rumbled and began to pour.

 

"Oh for Christ’s s-!" Molly stood up immediately, hurrying to get to shelter. Only Sherlock’s hand stopped her, again taking the same grip on her wrist as it had before. She felt him pull her back. 

 

Molly was ready to tell him off.

 

She wasn’t ready for his lips pressing against hers.

 

Her eyes widened in disbelief, too shocked to respond to the kiss. She raised her hand a moment, about to poke Sherlock’s shoulder, then realizing how stupid that would be, and merely mumbled against his mouth. 

 

Sherlock pulled back, his brow furrowing. To explain herself, she, logically, began gesturing.

 

"That was- wow," her knees went weak, and she couldn’t help but give a giggle, "Okay, yeah. Wow. But I’m-! I’m still mad at you."

 

"I won’t kiss you in the rain next time," Sherlock said immediately, his hand sweeping across as if crossing an item off a list.

 

"No, very movie-ish, that was great. But- no, I mean about lying. You tell me the truth. Especially if you’re going to use my firm as a cover story!"

 

"But-"

 

_"Agreed?"_

 

Sherlock raised his eyes up, “Ugh, fine.”

 

"This…" Molly gave a small laugh, "Okay, no, good. Now that we’ve got that covered. This is such a mess. Let’s just- yeah, let’s just start over, yeah?"

 

Sherlock considered her for a moment, before nodding, “Fair enough.” He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and said, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes. I’m your new intern,”

 

"Hi. I’m Molly Hooper, and you’re fired."

 

"I thought you said interns can’t be fired-"

 

"What kind of signal would I be sending?" she took him by the collar, "The boss dating the intern?"

 

Tugging him down to her level, Molly pressed her lips to Sherlock’s again, smiling against his own smirk, sharing a new first kiss. 

 


End file.
